


Six Times Steve Rogers Met Captain Jack Harkness

by BBUBear



Category: Captain America, The Avengers (2012), Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBUBear/pseuds/BBUBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve didn't much believe in fate, but he did believe in coincidence. As two men who would prove to lose the most, the intertwining of their lives was no such coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Times Steve Rogers Met Captain Jack Harkness

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, all my love and thanks to Daizy for betaing out the mistakes that come with writing this during random 3AMs throughout the course of two months.
> 
> This timeline is a little odd. The dates of the first three meetings are based on comic dates(such as his birth, Project: Rebirth ect) and then he is woken up in early 2008, before Toshiko and Owen die.

 

**1939**

 

Steve had long since realised that finding himself backed into the corner of an alleyway, a man much larger than himself looming over him, was not going to be a once in a blue moon thing. In fact, it was the second time this week and it was only Thursday. Well, that’s not entirely true. Last time it was in the park next to the bookstore rather than an alleyway. He had also come to realise that fighting back would do nothing more than aggravate said man and end in himself becoming more injured than necessary.

But Steve is nothing if not stubborn.

This time though? This time, Steve had to near forcibly put aside his stubbornness. Because this was getting out of hand. 

It had been none of his business. He knew that. The lady who had run off once the attention was no longer on her knew that. The guy standing over him sure as hell knew that. That hadn’t stopped him from intervening when unwanted hands began to wander. His business or not, if Steve knew anything, it was that you never touched a woman like that. So he stepped up, said something, and in return for it, got the bulging of a vein in the guys neck and a shove towards the nearest dark corner. But she was hopefully far away by now and would think twice before hanging around with men like him.

So he could deal with the black eye and the bruises on his ribs. The scrapes on his elbows and the tear in his shirt. Because he knew that compared to what could have happened to her, he’s getting off lightly. Although it would be a lie if he said that he had been striving to leave this encounter with a broken bone.

“You know,” Came a voice, loud and booming in the confines of the walls on either side of them, “The last time I walked in on two guys in an alley, they were having much more fun than you two seem to be.”

Steve knew that voice didn’t belong to Bucky-who had taken to finding him in these situations after a date with his pretty dame of the week-he could only hope it wasn’t someone who had come to do the exact opposite of help him out. Although knowing his luck as of late, his hopes weren’t particularly high.

The tread of thick boots on concrete had Steve setting his jaw and focussing his gaze on the point of sky that he could glimpse over the shoulder of the man above him. He couldn’t move. Not with his arm being pinned down as it was, or else he would have lifted himself to gauge the intentions of the new man on the scene. Instead he lay there, coming to terms with, if not accepting, his fate.

“Get out of here, kid. Before you get into some real trouble.”

Steve wasn’t sure what it was that caused the shoe to ease off his arm or the man to flee as if his backside were on fire, but as he looked up at the newcomer, he saw a flash of something silver an impossibly shiny being slipped into the pocket of an RAF greatcoat.

His legs were shaking, but he didn’t take the outstretched hand that was offered to him, instead pushing himself up off the ground and onto unsteady feet, “I’ve got it, thanks.” Finally getting a chance to take a look at the guy who had scared off his attacker. The first thing that Steve noticed was that he was tall, much taller than himself and probably even taller than Bucky. The second thing that he noticed was -

“Captain Jack Harkness,” He introduced himself, thrusting his hand towards Steve with a blinding grin. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this Captain, all attitude and swagger but seeing as he had prevented Steve from getting an arm broken, he couldn’t be all that bad. Despite that, it still took all of Steve’s effort not to make some remark about what exactly it was he was the captain of. This man didn’t look and seemingly didn’t behave like any military man he had ever come across before.

Reaching out, he grasped Captain Harkness’ hand, wincing a little at his firm grip-his own hand was still sore from where he had thrown a punch, only to get tripped and have his fist slam into the brick wall-, “Steve Rogers. Thank you for that,” And if Steve wasn’t imagining things, the grin on the other man’s face turned from predatory to something softer, slightly fond and he heard him say under his breath _‘yeah. Yeah, you are.’_

That was all the weird that Steve could take for one afternoon. Pulling his hand out of the Captain’s grasp, he took a step back, away from him and with a nod of thanks, moved towards the opening of the alleyway. 

As Steve stepped out from the shadow of the bookstore and onto the street, prodding at his lip slightly to make sure that the split on it wasn’t too bad, when he heard the man call after him.

“Try not to get in trouble again. We might have need for those arms one day.” 

Shaking his head out of disbelief, he didn’t look back. In fact, he picked up his pace, focussing on nothing but getting out of the alleyway. Today was clearly not a day to be out.

 

 

**1942**

One could only sell war bonds for so long until it became repetitive and tedious. By this point, Steve had the routine down to an art. Smile. Speak. Punch. Wave. Repeat. Because despite this not being at all what he had in mind when signing on to become Captain America, he was going to do it properly. If donning the spangled suit and selling bonds to people who had nothing else to contribute to the war than their money was how Steve was going to help the cause then fine. It was far from ideal. Ideal was out on the front-lines. Ideal was seeing with his own eyes how his actions were getting them somewhere. Ideal was being Captain America in a place where Captain America was needed.

But for now, here was Steve. On the British leg of the tour and somewhere in Cardiff only weeks before what would turn out to be the first bombing of the year, sitting in some dim bar with half a glass of ineffective whiskey in his hand.

A raised voice from across the room caught his attention, the sharp accent standing out above all others. He turn in his seat, looking in the direction of the voice, not entirely sure what he expected to see. Captain Jack Harkness, slumped over a sticky table. Not that the tabletop was particularly visible, scattered with glasses and bottles as it was.

Setting his glass down onto the wooden bar, Steve made his way over to the man, weaving between other patrons. The slur of words coming from him becoming more distinguishable, if not more intelligible, the closer he moved.

“It’ll be okay. Once he finds me, it’ll all be okay. He’ll fix me. One of these days.”

“Captain Harkness?” Steve said quietly, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder, not wanting to shock the other man. He had learnt the hard way that surprising a morose, drunk, military man never turned out quite how you wanted it. This, he had found out the first night that he had off that coincided with that of a group of soldiers who had been posted in London.

Turns out that, even now, a black eye was not entirely out of the equation.

Jack’s reaction was not, in fact, a swinging punch. Instead extremely bloodshot blue eyes moved to meet his and there was no recognition there, just the glazed, perpetually confused gaze of a man who had drunk far too much in one sitting. “Doctor?” Came a low murmur, the barely moving lips and the soft roar of the rest of the bar and Steve wouldn’t have caught it if it weren’t for that he was watching the other man’s face intently.

Steve wasn’t sure if the lack of recognition was due, “I don’t know if you’ll remember me,” He started slowly, removing his hand from Jack’s shoulder and moving around to the other side of the booth, “My name’s Steve Rogers. We met once, a couple of years back in Brooklyn. ” Sitting, Steve couldn’t help but notice that the man in front of him didn’t look quite the same as he remembered. The jacket was gone, the hair was different, much more suited to the style at the time, and, although it must have been a trick of the light, he looked impossibly younger.

There was now some recognition in his eyes and, oddly enough, a hint of pride, although to what Steve wasn’t entirely sure. Off-stage, he wasn’t exactly a Captain and he hadn’t exactly done anything to warrant the warm, if still drunk, look in Jack’s eyes.

Catching the bartender’s eye, he gestured for him to bring over a drink that Steve knew he wasn’t going to touch, and settled in.

He could already tell that this was going to be a long night.

 

 

**1945**

The third time they met, Steve’s pretty sure he was imagining it.

Honestly. It’s crazy.

Connection with Peggy had been lost on impact, the parts of the plane which connected the radio having been damaged when they hit the ice. That was all that Steve knew. Sure, he had learnt to fly the thing in a short amount of time, but technology had never been his strong point.

The noise was almost deafening, the creaking of the metal and the cracking of ice and the static of the radio mixing with the thumping of his heart.

Then it just…stopped. The metal and the ice and the radio just stopped and in the silence, Steve let out three harsh breaths. Adrenaline and fear still coursing through his body, even if that had been so since he had been injected with the serum, this absolute stillness made it all the more obvious. There was a minute where Steve just sat there, not moving, trying not to even breathe too hard in case it sends the plane sliding again. A part of his mind was still stuck on seeing Schmitt being sucked up into space because _what?_ Okay, he had seen some crazy things during his time as Captain America but really. _What?_

“Sorry about this, kid,” Came a voice from behind him and only his new-found reflexes stopped him from starting and jumping around at the sudden noise. In retrospect, that was a good thing, as if he had turned his head, a large syringe would have been jabbed into his cheek instead of the prominent vein in his neck, “Can’t have you dying and all that.”

It was only then that he moved, jumping up from his chair to swing a fist at the person behind him, only to catch empty air and the faint smell of rain on a dry day. The only thing that told him he hadn’t imagined someone else in the plane with him was the still stinging prick in his neck along with the image of piercing blue eyes and a wide smirk burnt that then vanished into nothing that was burnt into his retinas.

Unfortunately, it seemed that his earlier assessment of the plane resting precariously on the ice was correct, as his sudden jumping up from his chair had caused it to begin its descent down into the icy water.

Although strangely enough, Steve felt his body tense up, slow down and then black out before he had even begun to be submerged.

 

 

**2008**

It was in the second bout of Loki attacks the first time Steve met Jack in the twenty first century. The Asguardian(or Jotun, as Thor had told him solemnly. Whatever a Jotun was) had managed to escape from his father’s watchful eye and make his way back to Earth, but this time it was different. He had never wanted the Earth to begin with and now that there was no Tesseract on the planet for him to steal, his attacks had become oddly Avengers-centric. Steve privately thought that he was just tending to his title of the God of Mischief. Despite that, the attacks were still frequent enough and so obviously came from a person not of Earth that they were having trouble dealing with it. This was why Steve found himself standing in the middle of the control deck of the Helicarrier, standing out of the way of the rushing S.H.I.E.L.D agents when Phil came up to him, a familiar tall man in tow.

“Captain Rogers, might I introduce you to our consultant from Britain’s Torchwood Institute-”

“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack burst in, reaching his hand out to shake Steve’s, which was still at his side. In his confusion, it seemed he had forgotten his manners.

It took a moment too long for him to notice that both Jack and Phil were waiting for him to say something, both giving him expectant looks, and while there was still an easy smirk on Jack’s face, his eyes were saying completely different, “Yeah, I know. Steve Rogers.” He said uneasily, gripping the other man’s hand and shaking, a frown on his face.

So maybe Steve wasn’t quite as smooth as he had hoped, because the look that Phil shot him was mildly surprised(which for Phil, meant that he was entirely shocked. Reading that man was like trying to read notes off a blackboard which had been erased weeks ago) and he couldn’t help but curse internally at himself. He had never been a convincing liar, “You’ve met?”

“Ye-,” He began throwing a glance over at Jack and seeing how his jaw tightened, his eyes hardening even further and he tried to recover, “No, I’m just familiar with his work.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Torchwood had come up in his research of case files quite a few times and even more so now that he had been told of the existence of aliens. He knew all about Captain Jack Harkness, how he rebuilt Torchwood after the attack on Canary Warf, his sudden disappearance less than a year ago, his reappearance three months later. He’s just never made the connection between the leader of Torchwood three and the man he had known all those years ago. While Steve had come to realise that there was much more to Jack than a charming grin and an overly dramatic coat, the last time he had seen the other man, he had thought himself delusional. Not to mention the fact that seventy years had passed and Jack hadn’t seemed to age a day. Although neither had he himself.

“Of course,” Phil said with a nod, as if it were crazy that Steve’s reaction could have been for any other purpose, as if it were crazy that his mind was racing as he tried to figure out how the other man could be here now, as if it were crazy that maybe Steve wasn’t the only one who had been forced into a bright new world, “Then you should be familiar with Captain Harkness’,” He paused looking at Jack with a bemused expression, “Skill set and how it can be of service to us.”

Right, Loki. Steve wasn’t entirely sure why they had called in a specialist when they had Thor here to tell them anything, and possibly more than, they needed to know. But he wasn’t going to voice that opinion, seeing as how the man himself was standing not three feet away from him. Sure, right now they weren’t exactly on top of the situation, but from what he knew, Torchwood wasn’t much involved with events outside of Wales.

 

As Phil continued talking, outlining how exactly Jack was going to be of service, Steve watched as Jack sent a wink his way and then turned away from the two of them, making his way towards a small Asian woman and a man in a sharp suit whom he didn’t recognise, both looking around the interior of the Helicarrier. The woman’s eyes were wide when she looked up from, what Steve assumed, was one of those tablets that Tony was fond of, where she was jotting down rapid notes. The man, on the other hand, did not look impressed. He was watching as Jack strode across the floor and over to him, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. Then, without looking behind himself, stepped forward and out of the way of Hill, who was calling to another S.H.I.E.L.D agent over her shoulder and not paying any attention to the man who had been standing in her way.

Steve was begrudgingly impressed.

He was only half listening to Coulson, a fact which he had seemed to pick up on if the silence from beside him and the feeling of eyes boring into the side of his head was anything to go by.

“I…sorry, what were you saying?”

 

 

**2010**

The fifth time Steve met Jack Harkness, they didn’t actually meet, per se. No words were exchanged and barely more than a glance was shared.

It was after the event of the 456 invasion, the aliens having been killed or fled or something, it had never been made clear to Steve exactly what had happened. Enough time had passed that while it was still on everybody’s mind, schools were only just beginning to reopen and he had stopped being called out near hourly to prevent a burgeoning rally or to calm a group of crying soccer moms. But it was still something that had to be dealt with, a plan needed to be designed in the chance that they, or someone like them, would return and didn’t give them the time to figure something out on the move once again.

Tony was there on behalf of both Stark Industries and as a S.H.E.I.L.D consultant, although one he took much more serious than the other. Despite not making weapons anymore, Tony was completely sure that he could have, in his words, ‘whipped something up to reverse the radio waves and send the 456 packing in a fraction of the time and definitely without having to kill some kid’. Steve was there because…well, there wasn’t much of a reason for it. There was nothing Captain America could be of help with in this situation and Steve Rogers even less, but Tony had invited him and he never had the chance to see any of London before this.

One of the first things Steve had done once he finally had some time to himself was look up Peggy. At the time, it had only seemed like days had passed since he had last seen her, despite the seventy plus years that had gone by. She had died in action-of course, his Peggy wouldn’t take anything less than a heroes death-and once her body had been recovered, had been brought back home to be given her final goodbye. While Steve wished she were still here, wished with all his heart that he could still tell her the things he needed to tell her and be able to kiss her on his own grounds, when it wasn’t rushed and frantic and much too brief. But he would never do her the injustice. Nobody who fought in the war expected to see old age and she had died the death that she deserved.

So while Tony was off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t finding creative new ways to blow things up - most likely designing something to find creative new ways to blow things up for him - Steve took a walk. J.A.R.V.I.S had informed him where it was exactly he was to be going, so he had wandered off in that direction until he came across what seemed to be the likely cemetery. J.A.R.V.I.S had also offered to tell Steve exactly which lot she was located in and which headstone was hers, but Steve had declined. She deserved more than having a computer programme rattling out her final resting place. So no, thank you for the offer, but Steve would find her himself.

It took a few minutes of wandering before he saw it, although he was slightly surprised that it hadn’t been the first thing he had noticed. Steve had long since learnt to be wary of anything that didn’t seem as if it belonged. A man standing stock still, staring at a headstone, with his blue RAF coat flapping dramatically in a breeze that he had barely taken heed of before now. You wear a blue spangled suit, the voice in his head that, embarrassingly, sounded like Tony reminded him, causing Steve to let out a quiet huff of breath. Either the man across the stretch of grass from him had known he was there the entire time or had fantastic hearing, as he suddenly looked over his shoulder, meeting eyes with Steve for a brief moment.

In that moment, Steve saw something he recognised.

Behind the impossibly old eyes, there was a fire burning. The slow, painful burn of someone who had suddenly lost everything.

And that? That Steve understood perfectly.

Then, with a swish of the coat and the barely there sound of feet against damp grass, Jack was gone.

It wasn’t until Steve had walked another lap of the cemetery before a glint from on top of the grave stone caught his eye. Whatever Jack had left behind, it was catching in the afternoon sun. Making his way over, careful not to tread off the already beaten path out of respect, he made his way over, squinting at the object. It was a stopwatch. The glass all but smashed and the gold plating cracked, but still ticking away. He assumed Jack pressed the button before he left, else it was an extremely resilient stopwatch.

Reaching out to pick up the stopwatch, Steve paused with his fingers a fraction of an inch away, only now seeing the name engraved in the stone. It was one he had seen before, although not one he had been expecting to see in a graveyard in London.

_Ianto Jones._  
 _1983-2009_

 

 

**2140**

“I should have known you would be here,” Steve rasped out, watching Jack stride into the room with an arrogance so familiar it felt like a physical blow. In the two hundred years since his first run in with the man, he had hardly changed, still all attitude and swagger and the same ridiculous coat swirling around his ankles. And here was Steve, who had barely aged fifty years himself, struggling for breath between the pressure on his ribs, on his shoulders, his spine, and the gradual clouding of his thoughts. For the past day (Two? Three?), it had only been the scratch of the wall against his back and the tingling numbness of his thighs on the stone floor that had prevented him from giving into the pain entirely, “Was beginning to think I might have imagined you.”

Jack crouched before him, raising a hand to rest on the other man’s shoulder, but it stopped at another ragged breath, hovering just inches above flesh, “Oh no, you’re not that lucky. Captain Jack Harkness in the flesh. And I see you’re looking as spry as ever, Captain.”

“Don’t. Not now. Can you fix this?” Steve turned his head to look Jack in the eye, ignoring the twinges it sent down his spine. He needed to know once and for all if this was it, if this was how he was going to go out. Huddled in his standard issue pyjamas in a nondescript block of cells.

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. Time’s catching up with you. Did you really think this would last forever?” Jack didn’t expect an answer, so Steve didn’t bother wasting another breath to come up with one, “You’re feeling the strain of it all. The breaks, the bruising, the weeks without needing to eat. That kind of thing takes its toll on a normal person. Hell, seventy years in ice, the technology they used to get you out, even with some help before you went under…that’s mild brain damage at least.”

“Before I…on the plane? That was real?”

“You thought I wasn’t real? Do you hallucinate handsome men like myself shoving needles into your neck frequently or is it just a one time thing? Although I did meet that Stark of yours. Tony, I think. I bet you wouldn’t have minded him shoving-”

“Jack.”

“All right. Another time then. I did meet him, though. A couple of times. He was a good guy. Had a bullshit streak a mile long, but hey. I’d know, wouldn’t I? I bet you didn’t put up with any of it. Everyone needs someone like that, someone to put you straight when everything’s becoming too much. I knew a guy like that once. Ianto Jones was his name. Wouldn’t put up with any of my bullshit. Well. After a while, at least. We’d been, what did he call it? Dabbling. We were dabbling for a while. In the quiet hours between Roman soldiers and sentient gas clouds. But I had a couple of realisations in there. Really got me thinking. Asked him once if he had ever considered dating another man…dating me. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Kept asking though, finally got him to agree to it. I would have done it, as well. Wined and dined him. Full twenty first century style. But he just looked at me and said, in this gorgeous voice...actually, have you ever been to Wales? Those vowels. There are pleasure planets that would pay top dollar for those vowels. Anyway. He said, ‘Jack. Do you really want to play this game? Or do you want to take me back to my apartment and you can fuck me until I can’t walk anymore and we’ll pray to God that no Weevils decide that tonight is a good night to start a riot?’”

And he continued talking long after the shuddering breaths of the man beside him, once loud in the bare room, had faded to nothing.


End file.
